


A Fit of Destiny

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Requests/challenges/etc [6]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: Bedivere knows Kay's temper, and seeks the most recent newcomer that Kay has lashed out at to assess any damaged. Percival, he finds, has a quiet resilience about him.
Series: Requests/challenges/etc [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673452
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Fit of Destiny

Bedivere knew he'd find the lad far away from where newcomers assumed the people who knew Camelot's halls best tended to be found.

Kay had been in a right mood after dinner, going on about the girl with the prophecy and how much he found it unacceptable to be spouting such nonsense, especially to some newcomer still more child than man.

Bedivere had simply sighed, told Kay he would be back later, and gone to assess the damages.

Only this particular lad was harder to find than the others he'd had to smooth over the hurt and/or damaged Kay had caused.

Finally, in the stables, he found the lad grooming one of the horses that was never claimed by any one rider. He spoke in soft tones, barely more than murmurs, and the horse stood still for the attention.

“I'm impressed,” Bedivere told him, “he's normally quite a bit more fiery.”

“He was when I started, sir,” the lad's voice was rough, so obviously devoid of the instruction most boys wishing to one day become Knights had received, but it was sure, not unlike the current in a river, “Just needed to see I wasn't going to tie him down or corner him.”

“He was to be a warhorse,” Bedivere grabbed a pick and started working the horse's mane, “but he was just as likely to run from a fight than towards it.”

“Sounds like self-preservation,” the lad said.

“What are you called?” Bedivere asked him.

“My name is Percival,” the lad – Percival – said and oh, man, Bedivere made a note to have someone, probably Nimue, teach him the dangers of giving his name later.

After he assessed what Kay had said and done.

“You can call me Bedivere,” Bedivere told him and while that _was_ his name, it was not given as such.

Still, if this lad was a changling child or otherwise of the courts, he was either the best at hiding it Bedivere had ever seen or the most reckless.

“Hullo,” Percival said, almost absently.

“What brings you to Camelot?” Bedivere asked.

“Is this a test?” Percival went on the defensive immediately, “Because the keeper of the castle has already seen to that.”

“Camelot's senechal is quick with his words and even quicker with his criticisms,” Bedivere spoke honestly, “but that he did not send you away tells me whatever tests he put you through he considers you to have passed.”

Percival was silent for a while.

“He said I had the affect of a child and the constitution of someone who dreams of war but shits themselves the first time they scent death in the air,” Percival told Bedivere, “and that whatever the girl who fancies herself a prophetess says is only going to lead me to my death, not to glory or virtue.”

“Of course he did,” Bedivere pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer, comb dangling between ring and pinky finger.

“You know him well?” Percival asked.

“Since we were children,” Bedivere forced his attentions back on the horse.

“I did not mean to speak ill of your friend,” Percival hung his head in an attempt to hide his panic.

“Speaking the truth is not speaking ill,” Bedivere told him, “Again, he is quick with his words and even quicker with his criticisms.”

Percival made a quiet yet frustrated sound. The horse stomped one of its front feet and tossed its head in the air.

“Hush, hush,” Percival raised his hand to place it on the horse's nose, guiding it back down with quite, nonsensical mutterings. The horse looked ready to protest at first, nostrils flaring and muscles tensing, but sure enough Percival was able to still the animal again to resume the grooming process.

“Impressive,” Bedivere meant it.

“What if he's right?” Percival worried.

“I have seen high-born first sons whose entire futures depended on earning their Knighthood leave over lesser slights,” Bedivere kept his amusement out of his tone, “That you are here and not gone means you have not given up on your own trajectory.”

“What are you saying?” Percival asked.

“That your life is your own,” Bedivere told him, “and the choices you make determine how things play out, not the judgments and prophecies of others.”

Percival stilled, chewing on his lip as he considered the words.

“Thank you,” he said at last, “but if you don't mind I wish to think that over a bit longer.”

“Of course,” Bedivere nodded, “I expect I will see you at the training ring in the morning.”

Percival frowned but gave Bedivere a small nod. Satisfied, Bedivere left the lad to whatever thoughts were wandering around in his head.


End file.
